


Breath

by bytheletterC



Series: Short Shorts [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26656966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bytheletterC/pseuds/bytheletterC
Summary: Seeing the bookshop whole again after Apoca-not affects Aziraphale in a way neither he nor Crowley expected.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Short Shorts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910611
Comments: 11
Kudos: 50
Collections: comfort fics





	Breath

“Nightcap?” Aziraphale asks as Crowley pulls up outside the bookshop. It’s late, they’ve spent as long as the staff would let them sitting at the Ritz. Enjoying every glass, every plate, and every word that’s flowed between them. Enjoying the freedom of not having to make excuses to move on, move out, keep going, keep hiding. Enjoying the first moments of simple _existence_ on their own terms. 

“I uh, yeah.” Crowley cuts the engine, swings his lanky self out and around to open the passenger door for Aziraphale. 

“Thank you my dear.” Aziraphale steps out and they make their way across the street as he continues, “I think I have a lovely vintage from early 18th century Greece that we might break out. That is, if Adam restored my wine collection. Do you think an eleven year old would know how to bring back wine? Might be simply old grape juice now for all we know.”

Crowley lets Aziraphale rattle on about wines as he unlocks the shop and gestures Crowley in. The demon can read underneath the cheerful chatter there is a tightness in the angel's shoulders, and a pinching of the fine lines around the eyes. He’ll wait until they have booze, or grape juice, in their hands before attempting to ask about it though. He knows the angels pace.

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s rambling stops short and he freezes as the door clicks shut behind him. His eyes are overbright and he’s blinking quickly in the dim warm light of the bookshop. 

“Alright angel?” Crowley tries for a gruff tone but it only comes out fond, a little too soft. 

“Ah, yes. I- I thought I’d never get to come back.” Comes the whispered reply. “I know you said- but seeing- oh, it’s all really here isn’t it.”

“Got a new collection there.” Crowley jerks his head to where the red Just William collection now sits, trying to lighten the mood.

Aziraphale looks over but his eyes are glazed, distant, and Crowley swears internally.

“C’mon angel, let's get you that drink.” He ushers Aziraphale to the backroom and then heads off to the wine stash and grabs a bottle at random. Swinging back into the backroom he pauses, caught off guard by the angel sitting, not in his usual armchair, but perched on the edge of the couch. Crowley sucks in a breath and continues his saunter in like he never stopped, plopping down a safe distance on the opposite end.

“Here we are.” He says plunking down the bottle and miracling up some glasses, “Didn’t grab the 18th century whatever, figured if Adam didn't get it right it’s best to be disappointed by summut else.” He checks Aziraphale’s profile covertly out of the side of his eye as he opens the bottle and pours them each a generous glass. The angel hasn’t reacted to anything since he returned with the wine, eyes still glazed and far off. Crowley picks up a glass, hesitates, then leans over and gently presses it into the limp hands resting between Aziraphales knees. 

Aziraphale comes back to himself with a start, looking up blinking into the concerned face of Crowley. “So sorry my dear.” He returns his attention to the glass and only when Crowley is certain he wont drop it does he let go and slowly lean back to his side. The thin ease lasts through a single sip before Aziraphale’s hands start shaking and he’s hastily putting down his glass, the trembling spreading to his entire frame. “Oh dear.” he whispers, looking at his hands a bit shocked, as if they were not his own.

Crowley sits up swiftly and does away with his own glass, “Angel- Aziraphale, hey, just breath.” He leans his arms on the ends of his knees, palms up, “I’m here, you’re here, we’re safe.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s all-” Aziraphale gasps out through breaths that have become quickened, he’s fisted his trembling hands into the fabric of his trousers, leaning into them like it might get the shaking to stop. 

“No angel s’alright. What do you need?” 

“I-” Aziraphale squeezes his eyes closed and presses forward on his hands some more. “Could you-?” He fumbles one of his hands out of its deathgrip at his knee and into the open palm Crowley is holding up, soft square fingers closing painfully tight around rougher ones. Crowley doesn’t complain, just shifts closer, other palm still oven in silent invitation. But Aziraphale doesn't take it, instead his whole body tilts and his head lands with a soft thump against Crowley’s chest, just above his heart. 

“Sorry.” Comes another whisper through the shaking breaths.

“Nah, no. You’re okay, we’re okay.” Crowley reassures the blonde curls under his chin and he shifts closer, his free hand settling on the shoulder not tucked into his side, he moves it in soothing circles. “Take as long as you need yeah? Breath with me when you can.” He falls silent then, focusing on keeping his breaths deep and calm. His heart’s not on the same page and he’s sure Aziraphale can feel it beating wildly underneath his too skinny chest but he puts it from his mind, concentrating on the angel’s shaky breaths and his own steady ones. “Mmm’here, I got you, okay?” He whispers and tucks his chin over the soft curls, wrapping his arm more firmly around Aziraphale, pressing him close, grounding him. 

Slowly, eventually, their breaths sync and Aziraphales head becomes heavier on Crowley’s chest as the tension drains out of him and he leans more fully into the demon. The fist he’d kept tangled in his trouser leg loosens and taking a deep breath that only shakes a bit he moves it to Crowley's hip, twisting it into the soft cotton knit of his shirt. Crowley’s breath hitches much to his chargen making Aziraphale twitch in an attempt to get up. 

“Stay. S’good.” Crowley tightens his arm keeping Aziraphale where he is. “Here- lets, c’mon.” And, not letting go, he scooches them up the couch a bit and lies back, pulling Aziraphale down with him, settling him between his own body and the back of the couch, with his head resting in the dip between his neck and shoulder. “You good there angel?” He cranes his head to try and catch a glimpse of Azirapales expression but all he gets is his nose full of blonde curls. 

“Mmmm.” comes a hummed affirmation and he relaxes back, snaking one arm around Aziraphale’s back, the other he rests over the arm Aziraphale has draped over his stomach, hand still gathered in his shirt at his hip.

“Crowley?” 

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Crowley huffs a small laugh, “‘Course angel. Of course.” 

Aziraphale gives one last settling wiggle, and it's so _Aziraphale_ that Crowley doesn't expect what happens next. Soft lips press against the base of his throat, gentle and steady, held for a long enough that he knows he's not imagined it. He's not sure the last time he's blushed to rival hells fireiest pit, but there's also a smile on his face that he doesn't have to tamp down so it stays, soft and radiant, as he falls asleep with his angel tucked safe against his side.


End file.
